10th of Spring. 513AV.
The Flaxen District
The Flaxen District
What most people didn't understand about pickpocketing, was that like most subterfuge, it takes a lot of planning. It's possible to just bump right into someone and lift their purse for a talented pick, but it takes a lot of skill, luck, and crowd fluidity. While Alyx was chock full of skill and the crowd was fluid today, luck seemed to be lacking, and Alyx was not one to take chances with his life. He loved himself too much. No, he tended to observe his marks, stalk them, and acquire the goods through the single most-favored method of pickpocketing: misdirection.
Much like a magician's trick, a skilled pickpocket knows that a mark with no focus is just shy of being as bad as a mark with focus on you or their purse. Instead it's easier to ensure they're focused on something else, even if you're the cause of that focus, to ensure that their mind is anywhere but their purse. As Alyx slowly parused the crowd of the Flaxen District he smiled gently to himself, trying not to look too mischievous. A place like the Flaxen District was perfect, because people with large wallets came here to spend, and oftentimes did not keep too deep a track of their expenditures. Currently he was shadowing a middle-aged man with a trophy wife on his arm. She was pointing out things to buy while he split his focus between the things she pointed out and her curves, which hid delicately under a tasteful but clearly mildly suggestive bodice and flowing dress. Alyx moved slowly, watching closely as he pretended to examine a piece of stonework. People who were new arrivals were alert and not too deep in, and would be wary. People who were haggard and looked worn had spent their coin, and would have little worth getting. What you looked for were the people who were engaged and energetic, while maintaining a tight focus on something or another.
This man in particular was perfect because his focus was constantly anywhere but himself or his wallet. An ancient thieves' axiom always rang true; "a fool and his money are soon parted". Alyx looked patiently for the right moment to approach, replacing the stonework, and moved patiently and without undue haste towards the couple. As he came within just a few meter's of them he overheard their obvious banter.
"Don't you think it's too much?"
"What are you talking about Linus? It's perfect for the foyer. I could put it right next to that intricate rug. It matches the accent colors so it's not too overpowering and instead ties in with the rest of the decor! I just..."
Alyx couldn't help himself. His ears simply tuned out her jabbering. She was clearly the type of woman who could talk if for no other reason then to hear herself go...and petch if she didn't have a brain-meltingly annoying voice. As he closed on the pair, his well-used, soft-soled boots making no noise on the stone-paved streets, he began to subtlely move past the patron. A hand flicked beneath his cloak, and in that exact moment he managed to lift the tie and undo the coinsack, sidling past and looking to the man with a cordial smile.
"Excuse me," He offered congenially, moving in to look at a similar piece right next to them. He gazed at it thoughtfully for a moment--it was some dreadful warmask from some ancient tribe or another, or so the peddler claimed--before replacing it and moving on. It wasn't until he was a block away that he slipped into an ally to see how much his slip had netted him. Glacing at the contents he noted it contained five silver and twenty copper. Not too bad, actually. Adding it to his own stash, he continued on.
~*~
Observing a mark takes time. Ideally one learns their habits and idiosyncrasies. But pickpockets do not have time for such extended observation of marks. They must make split decisions, and usually spend no more than ten or twenty minutes at most observing a mark. In the world of pickpockets, ten minutes observing a mark is a lifetime; a microcosm of information where one learns a plethora of interesting tidbits, if they pay the right kind of attention. Novices might require such time, but for a skilled pick like Alyx, he could determine a solution in a manner of minutes. Unfortunately, the common answer is that not every pocket can be picked. Some people are wary, others keep their purse in hard-to-get places, and still others don't have enough money to be worth the pick's time. Finding an ideal candidate for picking might take a few hours. Because the act is illegal, actually picking the pocket could get one in serious trouble. As such, he has no desire to pick a pocket unless he's determined that it's safe enough to do. A recent favorite past-time of law enforcement has been to set up sting operations where a constable dresses as a merchant and pretends to be an inviting mark only to lead to the unsuspecting pick's arrest. Many novices get caught in such a honey trap.
Again, Alyx was no such novice. He knew who smelled like law enforcement enough to be wary, and when a situation seemed either off or just plain too good to be true. This time he was shadowing a young sailor. Sailor's were notorious for spending prolifically when they could acquire shore time. While they oftentimes made very little, they saved it up to spend all at once....in a place like the Flaxen District, which was why he was shadowing the lad he was. Alyx's life was not an easy one. When he'd been tossed out, at one point he'd had to steal just to survive. Somehow he'd managed, and worked his way up for desperate bread thief to a man who had become quite skilled at his trade. He was not a newbie with shaking hands and sweat pouring down his body. He'd long passed that stage. He was a seasoned and capable thief, and while he was hardly on the professional level of experts for whom it is second nature, he was skilled enough to know exactly what he was doing and minimize most risks at getting caught.
This sailor seemed wary, and in a flash he darted his eyes to look at a tunic on display in the window next to him. As he did so, he cursed silently. He'd not been careful enough. In that split second their eyes had met, and in so doing had made himself known to the sailor. If he brushed past, it would not be coincidence, and the sailor would know as much. He had to abandon this mark and move on to a different one. Shame...he looked like he might be worth something.
